


Picture Perfect

by SoulWriter



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Character Interpretation, Angst and Humor, Deleted Scenes, Fluff and Angst, M/M, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-21 08:18:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1544006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulWriter/pseuds/SoulWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how Peggy's picture ended up in Steve's compass.<br/>Everything changes between Steve and Bucky once they reunite after the rescue mission in Captain America: The First Avenger. The change in Steve's appearance and the echoes of Bucky's attempted brainwash stir things up between them. Peggy The First Fangirl tries to get them together with some reverse psychology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Muscle Memory

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically a retelling of First Avenger with all the cracks filled with Stucky - I'd say canon divergence but we all know that's not really it. I guess this is my way of making sense of Steve/Bucky and Steve/Peggy relationships.  
> -enjoy!

 

Steve turned another dark corner, panting. He glanced around. Another corridor, other anonymous doors. A maze he didn't know the answer to - no time to even think of one. The ground shook, an explosion in the distance. But getting closer.

_You're never going to get out of here._

He felt the plunging desperation from that sentence he just slipped to himself, and ran.

_You can't make it. Not without him. You're alone this time._

The rumbling roar of fire resonated in his chest. Steve was panting, but he wasn't tired.

Not the super-soldier.

But the boy, that boy from Brooklyn that never got out of an alley without the help of his best friend - he was shaking.

_You're no hero._

What was he even doing. The Hydra base was huge, and he was just one.

He passed a deck; beyond the banister, the engine room, glistening with red. There was no way he could find him before the whole place burnt to the ground.

_If he is even alive._

No. Don't even go there.

_You'll just lay here. And it will be all gone._

Steve clenched his jaw and closed his eyes and ran down the hallway at top speed, every ounce of his body – his new body, _isn't it funny how aware you get when danger is close –_ every stride pounding on the ground and being so _real_.

And he recalled how real it felt Bucky's hand and arm pulling at his and making him stand again. And the pat on his back, every time, grounding him and giving him new roots to stand on.

And the chance it would be just a memory from now on.

A shifting noise. Steve looked – the hallway to his left seemed populated.

_Yes!_

Fighting the hopes, he took it.

More rooms, and a brick wall. In the dim yellow light, the figure of a man. Frightened. A coat and a briefcase. Not a fighter. He looked at Steve for a moment, as if deciding between running away of protecting... _what?_

Steve let the man run away. He swallowed, unconsciously, his walk tentative as he entered the room the man came from.

There, laying in the shadows dancing on his body... Bucky.

Steve rushed.

_Is he alive? God please._

_He's talking. Is he hurt?_

“Bucky!” he looked at him and shook him, and the relief of seeing his face and feeling him alive flooded him with joy. But the look in his eyes... he wasn't responding. Steve saw the straps holding Bucky to the table. “Oh my God...” He ripped them out. Bucky was limp.

_Please let him be ok._

He shook him again. Bucky's head wiggled around, senseless.

But then, his lost eyes met Steve's.

“... what is... what is that...”

“It's me... It's Steve!”

“...Steve?” Bucky looked at him. He was lost in the maze, oblivious to his own being.

But he knew him.

“...Steve!”

Steve smiled. _He was alright._

“Come on!...” he hold him to get him on his feet.

Bucky was shook, and frail. It didn't feel like the other times. But he was alive.

Holding Bucky in front of him, Steve felt the urge to hug him. He remembered how large he was now. Hugs wouldn't have felt the same. Then his hand reached out to hold Bucky's head. The nape of his neck. It felt new.

“I thought you were dead...” he choked. Bucky was transfixed, still coming back, he couldn't believe what he had in front of him.

“...I thought you were smaller” he whispered.

 

 

An explosion brought Steve back to the situation.

_It's getting closer._

_Now it's on me._

_I will get you out of here._

 

* * *

 

A name had been given to him.

_My name is..._

A tag.

_Bucky._

He was confused. Not convinced that tag belonged to him.

But that face. That face he knew.

_Steve._

There were feelings associated with that face. He let them flow.

_Steve! Are you ok? -_

_-Sometimes I think you like getting punched-_

Bucky felt being lifted – a nice weightless sensation – and then the ground beneath his feet. He clenched at the body in front of him, and looked.

He remembered... lifting. Offering his hand to the little guy who couldn't help but getting in brawls with bullies twice his size. He used to think to himself it was like lifting a box of puppies. Same weight. And straightening him up, like a stubborn vine that keeps falling off the trellis.

_Steve._

It was all coming back, flooding his system with dark wages of memories, battling each other over the edge of his conscience.

“...I thought you were dead...” Steve said.

_Was I?_

Bucky stared at the Steve in front of him. He was so... large. His eyes were meeting above his. He didn't have to tilt his head to the side to look at him in the face, like he used to.

“...I thought you were smaller” he whispered. The shoulders he was holding onto were so massive, they had nothing to do with those exposed collarbones Bucky always feared would break on contact.

An explosion startled Bucky.

_Hydra._

_The mission._

_The war._

Steve looked around and seemed to animate. “Come on!” He swung Bucky's arm around his shoulders and lifted him to help him move.

_Is this what it felt like? When I used to rescue you up?_

“What happened to you?” Bucky tried to put a pin on his questions.

“...I joined the army!” chuckled Steve, inches from him.

_That's him._

Steve's face lit by the dancing light of the impending danger, he cracked a joke. Every darn time he'd done something reckless, he'd crack a joke. A disarmingly cute joke. Before you could blame yourself for not being around to protect him, he'd remind you he'd chosen to be there. To be independent.

_Thanks Bucky but I can handle it._

_No you can't. And you don't have to._

Bucky remembered the first time he had to figure out how to mend a nasty cut on Steve – all that blood that ended up on their clothes, and how much their moms yelled at them – and the countless other following times he had done it...

_“What happened?”_

“Did it hurt?”

_“Nothing. I'm fine. No need. It stopped bleeding already”_

“...A little.”

_“One of these days you'll break something”_

“Is it permanent?”

_“Not if I can duck”_

“...So far!”

They were proceeding down the hallway. Bucky could stand now, he tried to keep up with Steve strolling at his side.

_Why is he so fast._

A stab of pain in his ribcage made him recoil, but he kept going.

Steve didn't notice.

_____________________ 

Bucky knew what he just saw wasn't real. Couldn't be. A glowing red skull? An yet his best friend did just become six feet and built like a brickhouse. So maybe it was. Didn't know.

Clang, clang, clang. He followed Steve up the metal stairway to the upper level. Time was running out. They needed a way out of that furnace.

All Bucky could hear in his ears was the rushing of adrenaline through his veins. He was a pressurized puppet, the buzzing of his own blood keeping his mind veiled.

“Let's go! ...One at a time!”

There was a ledge separating them from their way out. Below, only flames. He felt Steve pushing him over the railing.

_One step at a time. Trust your body._

Very carefully, Bucky took one step after the other.

Boom!

The ledge shook. He ran to the other side without looking down, slamming on the railing.

As he turned around, the ledge shook again.

And it fell.

Steve was still there – now an howling red abyss between them.

“There must be a rope or something!” Bucky yelled.

“Just go! Get out of here!” shouted Steve back. Of course he did – _always playing the hero._

_Always the hero... my hero._

It all stopped.

The intoxicating noise of blood gushing through his veins. It stopped. Suddenly, his mind was free from all the ghosts and the clutter.

He saw clearly.

Steve in front of him. That's all that mattered.

“NO NOT WITHOUT YOU!”


	2. One, two times, three times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky get back to the camp, lots of feels; later Bucky gets drunk and Steve gets confused. Peggy is the first shipper.

_**02 – One, two times, three times** _

* * *

 

“... As a result, I must declare Captain Rogers... killed in action. Period.”

The tone in Phillips' voice was of disappointment and defeat. Peggy hesitated a second on the tent's threshold, waiting for Phillips to finish.

“The last survey flight is back. No sign of activity.” she said once in, putting down the papers with gravity.

“Go get a cup of coffee, Corporal.”

_Here we go, the Talk._

As much as she loved Phillips, he could still be an ass, especially when he was frustrated.

_If it was a man who sent Steve over the enemies lines, I'd be hearing praises of selfless bravery. But no. Here we are._

“... America's golden boy and a lot of other good men are dead, cos you had a crush.”

“It wasn't that. I had faith” she replied, stern.

_And a goddam good hunch. They way he sprinted when he learnt his friend was in danger..._

She didn't regret helping Steve in what she knew was an hazard. She had to. Steve didn't need to be patronized, neither before or after the serum. And he certainly was fully conscious of the weight of his actions when he decided to go where nobody else would. There wasn't ever any question in his eyes, Peggy saw that. Steve was of that rare breed of heroes devoid of expectation of praise or recognition. That was something none of the other guys in the military could see – they were the ones counting grades and pins on their lapels. For Steve, a good man would remain so even if forgotten in the folds of history. Peggy couldn't respect that more.

And then of course, there was the other thing. That day in the car, driving towards the lab where Steve's life would change forever – both of them nervous, opening up to each other to relieve the tension – he seemed to have all the weight of the world on his shoulders. And yet he accepted it, as part of the greater gift of life.

_“...In the last few years, it didn't seem to matter that much. Figured I'd wait.”_

_“For what?”_

_“...The right partner.”_

The right partner. Peggy remembered how that little word shift hit her. Not “girl”.

“Partner”.

She didn't want to place a label on that yet, but deep down she knew. She wanted to hold back, but looking at him live by each day, seeing something shine through him, something he couldn't even imagine for himself – it was heartbreaking.

 _Men and their ways._ A bunch of guys going through the worst and the best in life, while packed in the same showers. If there was a place where something was going to happen, that was the bloody military – but no, that wasn't even an option. She wasn't proud of lying to her superiors, but she'd done it more than once. She remembered the vague and allusive talks with the recruits, trying to let them know she knew. The slowing down the superiors with petty questions, so that they wouldn't run into their boys kissing behind the thin veil of the tents. The looks she'd see going on – painfully aware no one else could see the blossoming tragedy of that kind of love unfolding on the stage of warfare.

That day in the car, Steve looked out the window, and Peggy saw that beaming look she'd seen a thousand times reach out to someone who wasn't there. For a moment, she thought of stopping him from putting even more weight on his shoulders; but she knew that was his wish, and she had no right to interfere with it. She trusted and respected Steve.

They got shipped off to Europe. They'd get newsreels from the motherland. Seeing Steve on camera, being so confident among dozens of skimpy women, she thought maybe she could have been wrong. Surely it would have been easier on him in this world if he could just be a womanizer.

And then he showed up at their battalion, and nothing had changed about him. Always independent, still damaged.

_Thank God I talked to him._

When she mentioned the 107th... The fear in his eyes, the determination. She saw him grasping the frail possibility his friend was still alive, and run with it, like fuel. She couldn't have done any less than helping him.

But Phillips could never understand any of it. All he cared was that a good asset pulled a trick and didn't succeed. But they were at war – Peggy expected people to die, and if Steve had to perish while trying to save his friend, then _so be it_. That's the way she'd want to go, anyway.

“What the hell is going on out there?” mumbled Phillips.

The whole camp around them was rushing towards something. Peggy followed Phillips out of the tent, and down the hill to the treeline.

She heard marching. She passed the soldiers to look.

And there was the 107th, the survivors, marching like one towards the edge of the camp.

At its head, she saw a leader and his foundation.

She saw Steve and Bucky.

 

* * *

 

He felt so proud. For once, Bucky could march beside Steve and call him Captain – and he knew he made a darn good captain.

_All along, I knew._

_Now they can all see._

_And kiss my ass._

The few last steps of that excruciating march. Steve looked at him. They didn't need to talk. He was smiling, with that disarming underlay of terror Bucky had learnt to recognize so well.

_What happens now?_

_Now you're the shit. Everybody will love you like I do._

Steve patted him lightly on the back, a silent thank you – _he's still not confident_ – and faced the crowd. They stopped, surrounded by the whole camp. Phillips came forward. Steve saluted.

“Some of these men need medical attention.” he opened. “...I'd like to surrender myself for disciplinary action.”

He waited.

“That won't be necessary.” said Phillips, visibly happy to see such a reckless action had paid off.

“Yes sir.” agreed Steve, after a second.

Bucky knew Steve never hoped to come out clean, he had weighed in his punishment all along – and he had come to the rescue anyway.

_Classic Steve._

Phillips walked away, but hovered by Agent Carter who was right behind him.

“Faith, uh?” and walked away.

Bucky was expecting her to follow along with him, but she walked right up to Steve.

_They know each other?_

_Wow she's very close._

_What are you talking about_

Yes, Carter had stepped right in their personal space, and Bucky realized he didn't like to share it with anybody else.

“You're late.” she stated to Steve's face.

_A joke?_

“I couldn't call my ride.” said Steve, popping out a blasted radio transmitter.

_An inside joke?_

Bucky shifted on his feet. He stared at them staring at each other's faces, and they were talking about something he didn't know anything about. It had been hard enough being in the trenches for months, not a word from home, from Steve, from his life...

_How much did I miss?_

The Steve he knew, he was slipping away.

That stare wasn't ending. Bucky didn't realize he couldn't stand it anymore until he was already shouting.

“HEY! Let's hear it for CAPTAIN AMERICA!”

Everybody cheered so loud. Steve turned to him, the biggest smile he'd ever seen on his face, telling him _Bucky, they're cheering me! Me!_ – and Bucky felt his heart grow larger, because he knew Steve deserved this and much, much more.

But then he turned away, replying to the pats on the back and the hugs and all the people calling his name – and the raving sound of Steve's victory warped into a howling rumble in Bucky's hollow chest.

_He doesn't need me anymore._

 

* * *

 

Steve waited for Tim Dugan to give his final approval.

“....You gotta do one thing for me.” he said gravely.

“What' that?” said Steve, expecting the joke.

“Open a tab!”

Steve laughed, everybody laughed – _tonight we laugh in the face of danger_ – he grabbed the empty mugs and dropped them at the counter.

_This is done._

All night he had felt conflicted – he wanted to ask Bucky, be with him now that they were together again; they hadn't seen each other from that night at the Stark Expo. The night when everything started to warp. He had so much to tell him. But he also felt anxious about it. It didn't help that Bucky dropped out of the group – he had been sitting at the counter in the back room all night, getting slowly drunk.

_He has been through hell, I can understand that._

_But why not talk to me?_

Steve knew it was selfish of him to want Bucky at his side, when he had just been kept hostage by Hydra. He needed time... But Steve couldn't help himself. He tried to hush that thought, dismiss it every time it came to the surface, but it kept fighting its way up to the front of his mind.

He strolled to the back room – Bucky saw him and turned around.

“See? Told you! They're all idiots.” he went, a basic joke badly masking how tipsy he was.

Steve sat on the stool on Bucky's left.

_Here's your chance to ask him, Steve. Do it quickly. Do it._

“What about you? ...You ready to follow 'Captain America' into the jaws of death?” said Steve, dropping some last second mocking tone into it.

Bucky shook his head, with that uncoordination that read fourth drink.

“Hell no.”

_...No? He doesn't want to?_

_I mean I guess he's had enough with the war but-_

“...That little guy from Brooklyn, who was too... dumb to run away from a fight. I'm following him.”

_Oh._

The bartender set forth a beer, saving Steve from not knowing what to do with his face.

_I'm still the same, Bucky._

_Please. I'm here._

_I'm still the same._

The amber beer couldn't help him to spit that out, but he stared into it anyway.

Their conversation seemed to be stuck for a long second. The mention of their past together seemed almost out of place now, in another country, a different bar – his new appearance. It was affecting the way Bucky saw him, but also the way Steve was acting around Bucky: being so much taller was letting Steve behave more confident, but with Bucky... he just felt guilty.

_I'm not supposed to be this person._

_I'm not your person._

Bucky's words – he couldn't realize that – made him feel guilty, and sad. So many things had changed since the serum... but he didn't want him and Bucky to change.

Bucky leaned in.

“...But you're keeping the outfit, right?” he winked.

Steve felt grateful to him for breaking the silence, but hell that was a strange question.

_We'd never talked about clothes before._

_...He likes it?_

Steve looked behind him, to the poster of his now cancelled tour. He was still adjusting to the fact it was actually him on the cover, all strong, all American. But the thing was, Captain America, even if a product of propaganda, was the only thing that made him strong enough to overcome the paralyzing fear of losing Bucky forever. It was that ridiculous knit costume that reminded him of his principles, it was because of it that he managed to put one foot in front of the other and walk into an Hydra base.

Captain America rescued Bucky.

Thanks to him, Bucky was sitting there, tilting his head to the side over his glass of scotch, his eyelids fluttering too much, thinking Steve couldn't tell how drunk he was.

“You know what? It's kinda growing on me.” smirked Steve.

They both laughed. But it wasn't their usual careless laugh. They were apart. It was a new feeling for Steve – he had thought it would go away once they got reunited... but it was still there, nudging his stomach. An echo of the pressing terror that cut his breath in those dark hallways, before he could find him. It was still there, he could feel it lurking below his every words, ready to choke them with fear.

_Love me_

_No_

His whole life, Bucky had been on his side. Now something had changed, and Steve was instead facing him.

 

* * *

 

Bucky had been sitting on that stool pretty much all night. He was hearing the conversations at the guys' table in the next room, and he made sure early in the night to provide himself with enough alcohol to numb a growing sense of anxiety.

_I should be happy._

He was alive, thanks to Steve – _that new, strong Steve_ – but he couldn't make himself join the party.

_I don't know what I'm supposed to do._

_I don't know what's my place with Steve._

Before, he was always the one putting him back on his feet, always there to cheer him up when he felt inferior, always making sure he wasn't getting in any dangerous situations.

_Well, I wasn't really very good at that._

Bucky chuckled to himself at the thought. He realized he was being that drunk loner guy at the counter, and straightened his face up.In the next room, Steve was waiting for the final decision from the guys. He was putting together a team.

_Of course he was._

“....You gotta do one thing for me.”

“What' that?”

“Open a tab!”

Steve laughed, everybody laughed. From the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Steve getting up – he was coming his way.

_Act natural._

Bucky swung on his stool as Steve came over to his room.

“See? Told you! They're all idiots.” he joked.

_God that was weak. I might be drunk._

Steve went around him and sat down on his left.

“What about you? ...You ready to follow 'Captain America' into the jaws of death?” said Steve, a mockery in his voice.

_Always making fun of yourself. So others don't._

He didn't know Captain America. He knew his scrawny best friend, the one short just enough he fitted under his arms, the one who looked up to him, the stubborn one.

_The one who's cracking jokes about following him till the end of the line._

_Of course I will, you punk._

“Hell no.” Bucky shook his head, and it felt unbalanced. “...That little guy from Brooklyn, who was too... dumb to run away from a fight. I'm following him.”

Bucky looked up from his drink, at Steve. He got a beer, and didn't know what to do with it. The same face he always made. No matter how many times they went out to the bars, the first beer was always an open question for him. His face was fuller now, more chiseled. Just all of him really, Bucky wasn't used to see him taking up any space. Between the shoulders and his arms on the counter, he was taking up all of his field of view.

_Yet there you are. That look, I know. Smiling away the awkward._

_And you don't know how cute you look – and I will never tell you._

_It's a secret between me and the shadows brushing on your face._

Bucky shook – he took a big sip from his glass, long enough to bury his face in it.

_What are these thoughts. I'm drunk._

_I'm so drunk._

After coming back to the camp, when Steve took off the torn leather jacket and he saw the blue and red suit – he could see his body trying to get out of it; he was like, color blocked.

Before being able to stop, Bucky leaned in:

“...But you're keeping the outfit, right?”

_That came out like picking up a stage girl._

_Ah don't look surprised now, you must be feeling even a little bit attractive._

“You know what? It's kinda growing on me.” Steve said at the poster behind him.

They both laughed.

And there it was.

That feeling again. A swarm of black horses crawling up his chest and buzzing in his ears – and he couldn't stop it.

_Every time your new you smiles, the old one dies a little._

_And we draw apart._

 

* * *

 

Peggy was staring at the ceiling. Actually, more of a piece of fabric above her head, but whatever. It was the army.

Months and months of searches, and now that they had an advantage over Hydra – a considerable one – all she could think about was Steve and Bucky. She really felt for them. She remembered Bucky Barnes from practice, but only after seeing him earlier with Steve she'd understood why he always looked so depressed.

_Other than being deployed, that is._

She was so happy and proud of Steve for coming back alive and keeping his word, that she had a little moment with him – only later she realized it might have been inappropriate in front of Bucky.

_They should wear matching shirts so I won't hit on them by accident._

Actually, that might have been a good juncture to have something like this happen. Now everybody in their division had half a thought she and Steve had something going on.

_People won't go look at the two of them. It's a good cover._

Peggy got up and fumbled around the tent. Something was still bothering her. As much as they were really cute to look at, it wasn't right for them to keep dragging things this way.

_They should get together already._

Things were definitely shifting for Steve; she couldn't say the same for Bucky since she hadn't known him long enough, but the look on his face earlier with Steve, it was almost too painful to watch. Every word anyone else spoke to Steve looked like someone ripped a piece of skin off Bucky. That couldn't be mistaken. There was angst going on.

_And I will expose it. Move things along._

She rummaged in her trunk to reach the bottom. A red blob emerged. She put the dress on.

_Ok not that bad. I still got it._

_Onward._

 

* * *

 

Steve was still dragging his laughter, when the whole place suddenly became quieter. They both leaned back on their stools to look into the other room.

_Oh, that's what happened. Peggy Carter happened._

They stood up as she came up to them. She wasn't wearing the usual uniform.

_She must be off-duty tonight too._

“Captain.” she greeted.

“Agent Carter.” said Steve, ready.

Bucky tried once again to look less drunk than he was.

“...Ma'am” he said.

She stopped in front of Steve.

_Why is she here?_

_That dress is gonna turn heads._

“Howard has new equipment for you to try, tomorrow morning?” Peggy went on.

“Sounds good.” he agreed.

_Is she flirting? With me?_

_That dress is really... red._

Awkward silence.

_Say something._

He didn't know what to do. That always happened with women, but this time, it was worse. It was different. He glanced at Bucky to get help, but he looked away. He felt Bucky sliding away, even further, Peggy wedging between them. And he didn't know how to deal with that.

“I see your top squad is prepping for duty.” noticed her, looking over the guys' table.

Bucky made his way into the conversation.

“You don't like music?” he said.

Steve had never liked seeing Bucky hitting on women when he was drunk – he'd become a lesser version of himself. Mockery was a lame way to get a lady's attention.

_And yet he always scored._

_That's why you don't like it_

Peggy turned his gaze to him, and Steve had to return it.

“I do, actually. I might even, when all of this is over, go dancing.”

She let that sink, the corners of her red lips between smiling and suggesting.

“Then what are we waiting for?” bursted Bucky on the side. He didn't even sound convincing.

Peggy took a moment to shake that away. She looked even deeper in Steve's eyes, and said:

“The right partner.”

There was an agenda there that diverged from the meaning of the words she uttered. He had known Peggy long enough to get that. But what exactly she meant, he couldn't say.

“Eight hundred. Good night Captain.” she said, and she walked away.

_Wait I didn't get it_

Steve made up something simple:

“Yes Ma'am. I'll be there”

He had no clue. Had she really walked over to the bar from the camp just to tell him to show up at eight in the morning? Bucky followed Peggy with his eyes as she exited.

_Stop that._

_Always checking them out._

Bucky turned around, he looked very sadly disappointed she had ignored him so blatantly.

“I'm invisible. I'm turning into you. It's like an horrible dream.”

Steve patted him on the back.

“Don't take it so hard. Maybe she's got a friend!”

_I really hope she doesn't._

 

* * *

 

The place silenced for some reason, but Bucky could hear only Steve's laughter anyway. They both leaned back to look for the source.

_That's Peggy Carter._

_In a fine-ass dress, if I shall say._

She stepped in and came right up to him.

“Captain.”

“Agent Carter.” greeted Steve, _always the gentleman_.

Once again, Bucky had that unpleasant feeling of being invaded. Yes, he and Steve were feeling distant, but that didn't give her the right to occupy that distance.

“Ma'am.” he said.

_I'm over here, you know._

She didn't acknowledge him one bit.

“Howard has new equipment for you to try, tomorrow morning?” she said, loading every word with a soft, private tone.

“Sounds good.”

_Oh my god._

_She's flirting._

He looked at her, and back at Steve. He was uneasy, like always, because _she was flirting with him and Steve doesn't know what that is._

Peggy glanced at the boys in the next room.

“I see your top squad is prepping for duty.” she remarked, hinting sarcastically at the bar singing.

_That's how it's done, Agent dear._

Bucky felt the alcohol giving him another sudden, unrequested, and inevitably bad idea.

“You don't like music?”

_Come away with me, Agent._

_Forget Steve._

But Peggy leaned even closer – so close Bucky had to fight away the image of the two of them kissing in front of him.

“I do, actually. I might even, when all of this is over, go dancing.” she said, leaving little to the imagination.

_You can't ask Steve to dance._

_He'd never danced._

Steve blushed. Yes, he could see the blushing.

_He's gonna say yes._

Bucky thought of the night at the Stark Expo and how he ended up with two girls. He didn't do it to steal them away from Steve. But it happened.

_You don't want Steve, Agent._

_Come away with me._

“Then what are we waiting for?” said the alcohol again.

He didn't know what he'd expected, but Peggy didn't budge. She looked even deeper into Steve's eyes – her velvety lips all plump and the soft of her neck exposed – and spelled:

“The right partner.”

Steve looked all fuzzy – _he'd dance with her._

Bucky felt a surge of violence that left him disgusted, but he couldn't shake it completely – he wanted to choke her, and grope her, and let Steve watch.

_This isn't me._

_Stop it_

“Eight hundred. Good night, Captain.”

_'Good night'?? And that hint of military dominance?_

_She's gonna eat him up_

“Yes Ma'am. I'll be there” said Steve.

_Don't say yes! Don't you see what she's saying??_

As Bucky watched her walk away, he tried to understand – but he couldn't. He wanted to condone Steve for being into her – he really wanted to, because _it's Steve and he needs it_ – but there was a rebel voice inside him that was screaming, and reaching through, and with the help of booze it was succeeding in shutting down his better judgement.

This was the first time that Bucky had seen a girl hitting on Steve, that secret look in her eyes just for Steve, and ignoring him, so utterly and completely that he couldn't break in between them.

_Is that what you do?_

He just didn't want Steve to get hurt. Yes, that's what it was.

And the sight of girls and Steve – _it's not how it's supposed to work._

_How is it supposed to work?_

Bucky turned around. His legs were liquid as his thoughts, and he couldn't stop any of those things happening to him, to Steve, to the world.

“I'm invisible. I'm turning into you. It's like an horrible dream.” said to Steve, and for a moment full of panic he doubted Steve could even hear him – _because I'm a ghost._

_I'm slipping away._

 

* * *

 

Peggy stepped into the dimly lit but joyous sounding bar. The room went almost silent upon her entrance. She quickly realized the dress might have been too much, all heads were turned to her.

_Oh well._

She walked in – on her right, she noticed Bucky's and Steve's heads stretching out of the back room. She headed towards them.

_Showtime._

_Remember, you're a threat. You're the other woman._

_Ok actually 'the' woman here, but we're getting the point._

“Captain.” she greeted.

“Agent Carter.”

Bucky Barnes was checking out her rear end.

_Get your shit together, soldier._

“Ma'am.” he said, in the most drunk disgusting flirting way possible.

_Pay attention._

“Howard has new equipment for you to try, tomorrow morning?” she directed to Steve, her eyes fixed in his. She forced her voice into the softest kitty thing she was able to attain. She was there to stir the pond and she was going to do just that.

“Sounds good.”

Steve looked confused, embarrassed, suddenly interested in the state of his boots. Clearly no one had ever tried to flirt with him in a bar – and it probably wasn't helping that it was coming from her, a friend.

_Sorry Steve, it's for your own good._

She kept staring at him for a good long moment, to build up the tension. But she needed to know. Was this affecting Bucky at all? Steve glanced over to Bucky and whipped back down to his own feet.

_I really wanna look at him. I need a good look at him._

She tilted her head dramatically to the side, as if she hadn't gotten enough of a good look at the situation in the next room seconds ago.

_That was totally smooth. Yeah._

There he was, Bucky Barnes. Standing there, the drinks of the night at work on his face. 

_Oh my God what is this even_

_What's this SAD TRASH HOBO GAZE_

_Oh my God._

He looked like a puppy someone had beaten up with a wet mop.

_Oh my God_

_I'm so done._

Well, that was the answer she was looking for. Not only Steve was into Bucky, but Bucky was definitely into Steve as well. She had hit on guys whose girlfriends didn't look half bothered by it than Bucky was showing right then. The situation was almost unbearable – none of them two had any clue to why they were feeling so miserable over a woman talking to one of them. None.

Bucky started to notice her gaze, and turned to check what she was looking at. Peggy quickly came back to Steve.

“I see your top squad is prepping for duty.” _quick change of topic._

“You don't like music?” Bucky stepped in.

His drunktard tone of voice was ridiculous, and his attempt to redirect attention on himself and on his hetero sexual prowess was even more hilariously tragic.

_Hold on to your feels, boys. I'm about to pack a punch._

“I do, actually.” she said into Steve's doe eyes, even propping her head up sensually. “I might even, when all of this is over, go dancing.”

Steve looked really puzzled, and Peggy noticed how his limbs had shifted towards Bucky's side, even if he was still facing her.

_That's the feeling I'm pointing at. Let it flow._

“Then what are we waiting for?” joked Bucky, in a last desperate attempt to rip her away from Steve.

_Cue perfect punchline._

“The right partner.”

_GET IT STEVE_

_THE RIGHT PARTNER!_

_Like the one who just said he wants to go drunk dancing with me, which is actually you._

Both of them looked equally confused and terrified. Bucky had an undertone of murder in his gaze. Her work was done.

“Eight hundred, Captain.” and walked away.

“Yes Ma'am. I'll be there.”

_If they don't end up at least making out tonight I'll be fucking pissed._

 

 


	3. All along

Bucky stumbled on the edge of the chipped sidewalk outside the bar; he jolted back up, overcompensating, and lost his balance again.

“Do you need a hand?” he heard Steve say behind him.

_ Fuck you and your chivalry. _

“I said I'm going back to the camp” he vaguely realized that wasn't an actual reply to the question.

“Yeah, I heard you. I'm just concerned you're not gonna make it that far. You had quite some to drink.”

_ Thanks for the fucking heads-up, Captain Smart-ass. Like I didn't notice. _

_Fuck off_

He tried to remember how many drinks he had exactly, and the only thing he could make up was the cloudy recalling of a bottle being emptied. And shattered. He had been singing on the piano. Like, on top of it. Faces singing along and cheering. Steve in the corner.

_ I'm having fun Steve, look at me _

_Fuck you, don't look at me_

“Well I don't care. I don't have to be up at 'eight hundred' tomorrow morning” he spitted out, turning around. Unbalanced again. Steve was hunching over, trying to get closer.

_ I'm not fucking gonna fall over, quit it. _

Steve seemed hurt by the remark.  _ Good.  _ Bucky stumbled away, along the dark blue street cutting through the town under the moonlight. 

“Bucky!” Steve shouted at his back, but kept trailing him. “What does that even mean?”

He came up to Bucky's side and grabbed his arm to slow him down.

_ Don't even fucking touch me _

Bucky yanked his arm out of Steve's already soft hold. Overcompensated and almost fell over again. Steve caught him right out of the end of his fingertips.

“I'm just trying to help. You know that. That's what I've always wanted to do!”

Bucky shook out of Steve's hold, pacing on the polished stones. He couldn't look at him. His fucking face was burned on his retinas, for all he knew – he just kept seeing him, staring from the corner of the room, his massive arms crossed over the stiff uniform, drenched in yellow light that was too good on his features now – fucking judging him with his fucking perfect features.

“I guess your 'duty' includes sleeping with every woman from here back to Brooklyn?” his voice came out rough and disembodied.

_ But he hasn't slept with her. _

_Yet._

Steve missed a couple of paces.

Bucky was marching with determination towards the edge of the town – there was a short stone bridge and then the woods. Steve hurried back up to his side – Bucky accelerated.

“Is that what it is?” asked Steve, appalled. The heels of Bucky's boots were hitting the ground under his uncoordinated weight. “What – you can't take a little competition?”

His tone was of mockery.

_ Competition? _

Bucky didn't know how, but Steve was missing the point, over and over. It hurt.

_But what is the point?_

_What is it that you wanna say Buck_

“What else could it be about?” Bucky shouted, turning around, arms open to point at himself and everything else in sight, “Everything is about you, now!”

Bucky kept walking backwards, randomly hitting the raised stones – he wanted to watch Steve in the face now, see what he had to say, force him to spit out all those terrible things he was sure he thought of him.

_ Shoot me down _

_I can't take this anymore_

“Bucky...” Steve said, softly “I... I-I can't control how people behave towards me. You –” he rubbed his face with frustration, his other hand on his hip, like he always did “...you can't blame me for getting some attention.”

Bucky chuckled. There was a knot in his throat, it hurt to talk; there were so many words pushing to get out, and he wanted them out – or not, he wasn't sure – but couldn't make them pass through his vocal cords.

“You're so fucking stupid–” Bucky's heel tripped over one of the stones, and he hit the pavement with his beautiful precious butt.

It actually felt good being on the ground, the world was less wobbly – Bucky would have stayed there if it wasn't for the utter embarrassment of being the only drunk one between the two. He had barely formed the thought, Steve was already pulling him up with both his arms.

Bucky stood up, and he was right in front of Steve, half his weight still in his arms, their faces so close he could feel the warmth from Steve's cheeks radiating even through the crisp night air. He felt lightheaded –  _ my blood must be mostly alcohol by now. _

Steve looked at Bucky, and for the first time his eyes had a question in them, the longing question Bucky had had in his own eyes all night long – perhaps all his life.

All the sudden, Bucky was aware of every inch of Steve's exposed skin – his neck going into the shirt, his wrists against his shoulders,  _ his lips –  _ aware of the fabric sliding on their skin and how it was just a barrier and nothing else. Steve's body planted on the ground, and bulging everywhere like  _ he wasn't supposed to – _ and Bucky could only hear his heart pumping in his veins.

_I wanna punch your face out of my mind_

In that moment, under the stars in some old town in Europe, moonlight pouring on top of Steve's hair and into his eyes like glass marbles, everything seemed so far – the war, the pain, the mess. The air was still and calm; there was a quiet mystery all around, something he couldn't name but could secretly cherish.

The feeling imploded. Bucky gasped lightly. There was war, and death, and loss. And change. Everything seemed so far, their home in Brooklyn, Steve who couldn't breathe, the nights spent lying next to him, talking about everything; Coney Island in the summer, thrift shop jackets, milkshakes and movies, strings of girls. Steve's eyes sparkling like stones in a river.

The inevitability of change. Their past now engulfed in the flames of their immediate reality.

Anger. He was angry and couldn't help it.

He yanked his shoulders out of Steve's grasp. He reeled back a few steps.

_ I can't look at you _

“It's not  _ about _ the attention!” he yelled.

Steve gaped at him, lost.

“Then what is it about?” Bucky couldn't find any words to reply, he just stood there with a disgusted face. “Bucky, I can't... – you aren't making any sense!” begged Steve.

“I don't know! Am I making sense? Are you making sense?” Bucky whipped back, “Nothing has been making sense since I left you – I should have never left you at the enlisting! Now you show up playing the perfect soldier – and you're not.” Bucky couldn't stop now. Steve took the blow, his face melting. “Tell me, how does it feel like? That's what you've always wanted to do, right? Play the hero! –”

Steve shook. Something snapped inside him. His expression toughened.

“You wanna know? You really wanna know?!” he shouted, and Bucky stepped back, shocked for a second by his own doing, “You wanna know how all the sudden everybody wants me? How all they care is what to use me for? ...How I've never felt more lonely in my life?” a crack in his voice, “...How I wish I was back home? You wanna know how it feels now, to finally have the ability to do what I want, to protect the people I love? It feels damn great. It feels great that I don't have to ask for help, that I don't need protection anymore.”

Bucky was taking every hit to the core. Every word shattering inside his brain, he was on a ride he couldn't stop. He had  _ wanted _ Steve to spit that out, and now that the pain was hitting him, over and over, he was coming undone under each blow. He couldn't help his eyes being filled with tears, the knot in his throat burning and choking him so that even the thought of words hurt.

“So yeah; it feels good to be called a hero.” finished Steve, his voice dry and harsh, no hint of satisfaction.

Bucky didn't know how he was still standing. The brim of his eyes were full, and he felt the warmth of tears rolling over and down, making the stones shiny.

“Well, good job. Now you are one.” he said, his vocal cords abused and rough.

Steve stared at him, angry –  _ he was never angry _ – disillusioned, broken.

_ I can't take your eyes now _

_What have I done_

Slowly, Bucky turned around. His eyes were barely seeing the road ahead of him through the tears, and he didn't care about wiping them. He forced every step he took towards the woods.

_ Don't leave me _

 

* * *

 

Steve watched Bucky drag himself all the way to the bridge and past it. He couldn't move. His super-soldier heart was racing. He was keeping his face straight –  _ why do I always do that to myself? Why do I push it down? _ \- but a thousand images were racing through his mind, and they were all focusing on Bucky.

_ Why does it always happen this way? _

_The world around you is pristine and untouched._

_While you're dying inside._

_And you won't let anybody see it. Not even yourself sometimes._

The weight sitting on his stomach was so heavy, he couldn't breathe. He was angry, so much unmotivated anger, but he could have dealt with it if it was just that.

Bucky disappeared behind the trees, and Steve hushed a voice inside him that was telling him to go after him.

_ To hell. He made it clear he doesn't want my help. _

_He either makes it to camp or not._

_See if I care._

Oh, but he cared. Steve turned around and began walking rapidly in the opposite direction. He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't care.  _ Away. _ The anger was all of him now. Angry that even now, he was dependent, that he cared what people thought of him. He was angry, and in crude disbelief that his own best friend was rejecting him so violently right now.

_And why? Because he's jealous of my success?_

No. It wasn't that. Steve hated himself for always being analytical and rational. He just wanted to be angry. To be carelessly angry like most people are - without second thoughts.

_Jealous? Of w_ _hat success?_

_I_ _don't have anything._

Nothing. Steve misplaced a step trying to climb over the edge to the woods - he had to take his hands out of his pockets to break the fall.

_Nothing._

_Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky._

The bottomless horror of solitude suddenly opened up to swallow the remains of his stubborn breath. He gasped for air. He had to sit down. He didn't think he could still feel this way after the serum – shallow breaths, light head, and that feeling of dread lodged in his chest firing up and burning through his ribs, stomping on his insides.

_I'm so scared._

Before, whenever his fear was gushing out this way, he had Bucky by his side. Bucky who believed so adamantly in Steve that he could believe him when he used to say things would have turned out alright for them. A few short months earlier, all of Steve's world used to revolve around his health, his medicines, the lack of money. Every waking moment and not, Steve's brain was calculating how to compensate for being frail, how to excuse himself for not being good enough, for being a dead weight, useless, pathetic. All he dreamed of was to be able to prove himself, to make others _see him_. He didn't anticipate that once he got what he wanted, once it seemed like all his problems were solved, only the perspective changed.

_I thought I needed others to see me._

_But I only really needed you._

_And you were already there. All along._

It didn't matter how big and brave he became – people did see him differently, but it was still far from his true self. He just traded one cage for another. Only this time, he was alone. Steve knew at the time that if he had written Bucky about it, if Bucky could have been there when he decided to go through the procedure, he wouldn't have let him.

_“There's nothing wrong with you Stevie. It's them people.”_

That's why he didn't tell him. He wanted this opportunity, he wanted to do something with himself. He couldn't listen to reason. He didn't want to listen to him this time.

_Your love wasn't enough._

The cold of the night making its way up his spine through the damp dirt he was sitting on, Steve felt the brim of his eyes swell up with tears. He didn't do anything to stop them. He couldn't. The guilt was towering before him in for the first time. Making him feel small and fragile once again.

_I only did it for me._

_I have been so selfish_

He had tried to live up to expectations, when Bucky only expected him to be as good as he already thought of him. By going into this, by taking this turn, Steve had only betrayed the blind trust and admiration Bucky had had for him all these years.

As he blinked and his tears dropped, darkening the ground beneath him, Steve realized he had wanted to matter to other people so bad, all his life.

But the only person that mattered to him was Bucky Barnes.

_I wanted to belong, but I already belonged with you_

 

 


End file.
